


Father and Son

by MagicaDraconia16



Series: The XYZ Challenge [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Completely unscientific, Gen, Google-translated Latin, Humor, Mpreg, Not that I'd know, Which isn't surprising, bit of bad language, of a sort, pregnancy woes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 08:43:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15093233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagicaDraconia16/pseuds/MagicaDraconia16
Summary: At the end of the war, Severus Snape saves Harry yet again, but in a rather . . . unexpected way.





	Father and Son

**Author's Note:**

> For the Father and Son challenge by sistersnape on Potions and Snitches: "Harry defeated Voldemort, but was nearly destroyed himself when Voldemort's final curse turned him into an embryo. Snape only just managed to save Harry by taking him into his own body - and thus making himself pregnant. Somewhere in the sixth or seventh month, the unborn Harry "wakes up", and realizes who - and where - he is. What fetus!Harry doesn't properly remember is how Snape saved his life, instead resenting the fact that he's going to be stuck inside Snape for a few months. How does their strange 'father-son' relationship develop from there?" 
> 
> Canon up to the end of HBP, no horcruxes. The Latin protection spell means "with my body, I thee protect" - at least, according to google it does.

Despite the hundreds of people involved, the Final Battle was strangely silent.

Masonry crashed to the ground or exploded, giants were tossing around trees as thick as their arms, werewolves were everywhere, howling with the joy of the hunt, and spell-lights of various colours lit up the darkening sky like the aurora borealis and yet it all seemed muffled, far away, as though someone had cast a silencio over the scene.

Or perhaps, Harry Potter mused as he tossed a stupefy at a still-masked Death Eater before spinning to curse another one advancing on Ron Weasley, it was just his hearing that was affected after that rock-demon had exploded behind him.

“Harry, duck!” Hermione Granger screamed somewhere to his left. Harry obediently dropped to the ground, and one of the fireworks designed by Fred and George Weasley soared through the space where his head had just been. It collided with an unmasked Death Eater that Harry didn’t know and exploded with a loud bang, producing sparks that burnt the Death Eater and multiplied when he tried to get rid of them.

Harry leapt back onto his feet and shot off three curses and a hex at various Voldemort henchmen. A blue spell-light shot past him from in front, and a grunt from behind announced it had caught its target. Harry jinxed another two lackeys and spun around Parvati Patil, who was screaming like a wild dervish.

“Dennis, to your left!” Harry bellowed, and Dennis Creevey stunned the hag trying to creep up on him. War cries from somewhere ahead announced Hannah Abbott’s and Ernie MacMillian’s victories. For Hufflepuffs, they were surprisingly vicious.

There was a shriek, as Ron blocked a curse sent by Pansy Parkinson and returned it with gusto. Hermione was stepping daintily over the prone form of Gregory Goyle – or maybe it was Crabbe, Harry couldn’t tell.

“Any sign of Voldemort?” he called, slashing his wand to deflect an orange-coloured hex.

Luna Lovegood, crouched beside a large hollowed-out tree with Neville Longbottom standing guard over her, looked up and smiled vacantly at him. She didn’t seem to care, or even notice, that blood was splattered on her face like war paint. “Mrs Lestrange and Mr Malfoy are over there,” she said, dreamily, “so I doubt Tom Riddle will be far away.”

Harry peered over the log. Bellatrix Lestrange was back-lit by something that was burning in the Forbidden Forest, her head thrown back, cackling madly. She was shooting curses in every direction, her allies in just as much danger as her foes. Lucius Malfoy looked as though he’d stepped out for a brief walk, his hair still neatly restrained at the nape of his neck, his robes as pristine as if he’d only just donned them, and every now and then, he would leisurely raise his wand and casually curse some poor, unfortunate soul.

Ron and Hermione ducked down behind the fallen log. “Plan?” Harry asked.

“Remus and Kingsley will cause a distraction, and you’ll go that way,” Ron pointed deeper into the Forest, “and work your way around. The informant says Voldemort is using Malfoy and Lestrange as shields. So we’ll concentrate their attention this way.”

Harry made a noise of acknowledgement. He didn’t know who was spying on Voldemort for them – apparently that had been their one condition – and he was dubious about the reliability of it. He dearly hoped he wasn’t being led into a trap. But he couldn’t afford not to take the chance. Since Snape – the greasy, traitorous bastard – had murdered Albus Dumbledore a year ago, Voldemort had come out of hiding. Raids and attacks had increased, and the Order of the Phoenix had barely made a dent in the forces Voldemort could call on.

Several loud bangs and whoops made the group look over the hollow log. Fred and George had sent several of their new war products straight at Malfoy. Unable to avoid them all, Lucius now looked severely bedraggled, his robes torn, his hair singed and covered in soot. With an inarticulate growl of rage, Lucius deserted his post and stalked off in the twins’ direction.

“One down,” Hermione whispered.

There was a sudden roar from above, and something swooped past, spitting flames, to catch hold of Bellatrix. It carried her off, ignoring her enraged shrieks and attempts to free herself.

“Good old Norbert!” Ron whooped in delight. “Go, Harry!”

Harry hadn’t waited for Ron’s word – he was already halfway to the dubious cover of the Forest, ducking stray spell-fire. Once in the trees, he slowed. Wouldn’t do to give the game away by stepping on a dry twig. Orientating himself by the noise of the battle, Harry moved forward, easing from tree to tree. When he heard Voldemort’s voice some time later, he ducked automatically.

“What is happening? How dare Lucius and Bellatrix desert their posts!?”

“Bellatrix, at least, couldn’t help it, my Lord,” a voice said, calmly, and Harry gripped the trunk of the tree he was hiding behind so tightly that a piece of bark broke off. “A dragon carried her off.” That was Snape! Harry felt a low growl begin deep in his chest. Finally, a chance to avenge Dumbledore!

Hearing a slithering noise, Harry looked over his shoulder. Nagini was approaching. Before she could scent him and tell Voldemort, he fired a non-verbal stunner at her, and then immediately stepped out into the clearing where Snape was kneeling on one knee in front of Voldemort. He was certain that both of them expected him to say something, scream, rage at them, but Harry’s battle instincts were more finely honed than they’d been before, and he instantly sent a bombarda at them, swiftly followed by a reducto.

Snape and Voldemort dived for cover in opposite directions and returned fire. It became a bit hard to tell, but there were times Harry would have sworn his wasn’t the only spell-fire aimed at Voldemort.

Dancing between the trees, Harry grew tired, and knew he’d have to end this soon, else it all be for naught. Gathering all his strength, he pointed his wand at Voldemort and bellowed the spell they’d discovered hidden in the Black library at Grimmauld Place. It was designed to age a person rapidly past their natural lifespan.

At the same moment, Voldemort hissed out a similar-sounding spell, aimed at Harry. The spells brushed as they passed each other. Then the increasingly bright light obscured Harry’s vision, and he could see nothing more. The air around him felt as if it was solidifying, the pressure even greater than apparition.

“Harry! No!” he heard a voice shout. “Cum corpore, protegat te. _Cum corpore, PROTEGAT TE_!”

And then everything went dark, and Harry knew no more. 

* * *

Severus Snape blinked to awareness lying on his back in the middle of the Forbidden Forest. He groaned, lay for awhile contemplating the tree canopy above him, then groaned again and started to lever himself upright. A wave of dizziness put paid to that, though, and he thumped back down again.

The last thing he remembered . . . Voldemort’s and Harry’s spells had been speeding towards the other . . . he’d shouted as Harry had started to shrink, the years and battle damage melting away . . . he’d tried to cast a protection spell, to take its effects on himself . . . and then something had hit him like a bludger to the gut, and he’d hit the forest floor and passed out.

With the dizziness abating, Severus attempted to sit up again, very carefully this time. Once sitting, he looked around the clearing in dismay. There were two piles of robes at either end. Voldemort’s were covered in dust. Harry’s were relatively clean. Of either wizard who had occupied them, there was no sign.

Grimacing, Severus checked his left arm. The Dark Mark was dull, flat and lifeless. It was just an ugly tattoo now – the magic binding it to Severus, and him to Voldemort, had gone.

Clambering shakily to his feet, Severus began to make his way out of the Forest, clutching the trees for support. He felt drained of all energy, and vaguely nauseous. The result of the Dark Mark going dormant, he presumed. Still, no matter how bad he felt, there were no doubt Death Eaters now fighting to avenge whatever had happened to their lord – or to keep themselves out of Azkaban. The Order would need every friendly wand they could get.

As he exited the Forest, he was almost run over by a raging Hippogriff, who was chasing Antonin Dolohov and Walden Macnair. Couldn’t happen to a more deserving person, Severus mused.

There was a shout from nearby, and Severus looked over to find Lucius Malfoy running towards him, followed by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin.

“Severus, watch out!” Lucius called, breathlessly, indicating the forest behind Severus. Without even looking, he knew Alastor Moody had come up behind him. Lucius was just opening his mouth to shout another warning when Severus clasped hands with Moody. Lucius’ jaw dropped, and then his mouth firmed into a grim line, his expression radiating betrayal. He shot a large cloud of grey fog at Lupin and Shacklebolt, aiming his wand over his shoulder. As his pursuers came to a halt, coughing and spluttering, Lucius gave a final glare in Severus’ direction and disapparated.

“We’ll pick him up later,” Moody said. He turned to look at Severus. His magical eye rolled to survey the Forest. “Where’s Potter?”

“Gone,” said Severus, shortly, feeling the nausea rise again. “As is Voldemort.”

“Kinda figured that when all the Death Eaters grabbed hold of their arm,” growled Moody. “Shame about Potter, though. He’d have been a good Auror after all this.”

“No, he wouldn’t,” Severus argued. “He’s never followed a rule in his life!” The nausea suddenly surged, and with a groan, Severus turned away from Moody to vomit.

“Magically exhausted,” Moody said once he’d straightened up again, but the magical eye was firmly fixed on Severus’ abdomen. “Here, laddie.” And he supported Severus all the way back to the battle-damaged castle. 

* * *

Madam Pomfrey pronounced Severus fit and healthy the following day, although Severus noticed that his magic had developed an alarming habit of fluctuating. He told the Order what had happened to Potter and Voldemort, and then refused to mention it again – usually because speaking of Potter made him sick again.

Unfortunately, it was hard to escape Weasley and Granger, who were like lost sheep, constantly wanting to hear about ‘Harry’s last moments, what did V-v- _voldemort_ do, d’you think, and did he mention us at all?’, usually accompanied by a wistful sigh and damp eyes.

Two months after the Battle, when they were _still_ asking, Severus could have happily cursed them. He seemed to become nauseous whenever he saw them – or heard them. No amount of talking to by Minerva, Moody, Arthur, Kingsley and Lupin caused him to tolerate them.

When he finally reached his breaking point and screamed at them to go away and leave him alone, he had to endure another round of ‘talks’ about not indulging in ‘hissy fits’, no matter how warranted they may be. Severus retreated to his dungeons and sulked.

But Granger and Weasley at least backed off, and now that his life was free of most stress, his appetite returned with a vengeance. He’d always been almost skeletal – watching one of Voldemort’s revels was never conducive to a hearty meal afterwards – but now it was as though he couldn’t help it. If he saw it, he had to eat it, even things that normally he couldn’t stand, such as onions.

The day that Minerva teased him about getting a pot belly, and he all but fled the Great Hall in tears, was the day Severus finally admitted there was something very wrong with him. 

* * *

“Well, this is very strange,” Poppy admitted when her third diagnostic spell came back clean. “I have no idea, I’m afraid, Severus, unless it’s just your system reacting to the lack of stress. I’ll just cast one last diagnostic, then I think you can go.” She waved her wand, and watched as various colours danced over him. When his abdomen turned pale blue, however, she frowned at Severus, then at her wand. Shaking her head, she cast the spell again, with the same result. Poppy frowned harder.

“Poppy?” Severus asked, anxiously.

“It can’t possibly be right, but my spells say you’re pregnant, Severus.”

“What! Don’t be ridiculous, Poppy, men can’t get pregnant!” Severus protested.

“Don’t you think I know that?” she snapped, and jabbed her wand at his abdomen so fiercely that he flinched back. “But my spells say you’re expecting a boy. You don’t have a medical condition that you forgot to mention, do you?”

“No,” growled Severus. “How can it exist when I don’t have a . . . wait, a boy?” Suddenly, Severus was remembering the Final Battle. What was the spell he’d tried to cast on Potter? Cum corpore . . . _with my body_. Could it be . . . ? He’d meant for the protection to act as a shield, bouncing the effects onto his own body, but if Potter had already been almost at the point of no return . . .

“Oh, Merlin’s knotted beard,” groaned Severus. “I think I’m pregnant with Potter!” 

* * *

A four hour conference with Minerva, Filius, Kingsley, Moody and Poppy produced no results. Potter – Severus emphatically forbade the use of the word _foetus_ – was cocooned in magic rather than a regular womb, and as Severus had cast the spell, it was tied to him, so they couldn’t just transfer it – him – to a suitable, willing host. Severus was fuming. Trust Potter to make his life difficult.

“We might as well call in Miss Granger and Mr Weasley,” said Poppy, eventually.

“What possible help could they be?” Severus asked, folding his arms.

“None, but they deserve to know their friend isn’t dead after all,” Minerva pointed out.

“Well, I won’t stick around for that,” said Severus, his lip curling in a sneer. He rose from his chair with less than his usual grace. “They’ll _gush_ ,” he added in disgust. As he reached the staff room door, a thought struck him, and he spun around to face the others again. “And you’re NOT to send them down to my quarters, either!” he insisted, pointing a finger at them all. He left the room to the sound of muffled chuckles.

Once in his quarters, though, he discovered that someone – no doubt Minerva by way of the house elves – had completely denuded his rooms of any liquor whatsoever. _Damn Potter!_ He felt a sudden lurch of nausea and scowled. Trust Potter – and Voldemort – to screw up a perfectly good protection spell.

He sank down into his favourite chair and a house elf immediately popped in beside him. It was the strangest elf he’d ever seen; rather than the pale green of normal elves, it was a deep green, so dark as to appear black. Its eyes seemed on the verge of popping from its head, giving it a perpetually surprised look. Its ears were so long, the tufted ends dragged on the floor. Long, bony fingers were twisting in a combined scarf of Gryffindor red and Slytherin silver. A knitted tea-cosy in Ravenclaw blue and Hufflepuff yellow was pulled low on its brow. Severus wondered if he was dreaming.

“What can Donky be doing for the great Harry Potter’s carrier sir?” it squeaked – in a surprisingly deep bass.

“Donkey?” Severus spluttered. “Minerva gave me a house elf named _Donkey_?!”

“Oh, no, great Harry Potter’s carrier sir,” the elf denied, shaking its head so wildly Severus got dizzy just watching. “Donky is being named for both his father and his mother – Dobby and Winky.”

“I see,” murmured Severus, although he didn’t see in the least.

“What can Donky be doing for the great Harry Potter’s carrier sir?” the elf repeated.

“Tea – strong, black, three sugars,” Severus instructed. “And for Merlin’s sake . . . don’t call me that name,” he finished on a sigh to an empty room. The tea materialised on the table in front of Severus, and as he leant forward to pick it up, he realised that eventually he wouldn’t be physically able to do that. He’d have to do some rearranging, he decided with a sigh. And then a horrible thought hit him.

Where were they planning on putting Potter once he was . . . out of Severus?

And for that matter . . . just how _was_ he going to get out of Severus? 

* * *

Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley wouldn’t be put off forever. A month later, just as he was starting to lose his centre of balance, the remains of the Golden Trio ambushed Severus just inside the Great Hall on his way to breakfast. Regrettably, Poppy had confiscated his wand the week before, as Potter’s developing magic and the magic of the spell were interfering with Severus’ own magic, with some . . . explosive results. Otherwise the two hanging off his waist, babbling apologies and joyful nonsense at his abdomen, would have been hexed out of Hogwarts, if not the entire UK.

“Kindly unhand me and cease that racket at once!” he barked. The Gryffindors suddenly realised just who they were holding, and leapt back as if burnt, their faces pale. Severus glared at them and continued towards his seat.

Once he was seated, the duo anxiously approached the table to take their own seats. “How are you feeling, Professor?” Hermione dared to ask.

Severus leant back in his chair. “I have one of my most detested students gestating inside me, I have strange cravings for the most grotesque foods, my temper boils over whether I will it or no, a house elf that won’t stop calling me _the great Harry Potter’s carrier_ and won’t leave me alone, I cannot brew many potions I need to, which will only get worse, I had to rearrange my rooms to accommodate my growing bulk and it won’t be long before I . . . waddle.” Severus sneered. “So how do you imagine I feel, Miss Granger?”

“Point taken, sir,” she whispered, and subsided into a thoughtful silence. Unfortunately, it didn’t last for long. “Professor, have you tried—”

Severus slowly lowered his tea cup – more milk than tea these days. Potter was such a plebeian – until it gently clicked against the table. Hermione abruptly closed her mouth. “Miss Granger,” Severus purred, his eyes glinting. “Do you believe yourself cleverer than the adults at this table?”

“No, Professor,” she squeaked.

“Then why do you persist in asking questions that you surely know we ourselves asked and then discarded when the solution didn’t work?”

“I just thought . . . since it’s usually women . . .” Hermione trailed off with a wince, obviously the recipient of a kick under the table from Ron. Minerva and Poppy both raised their eyebrows at the girl, and she shrank back in her chair. “Never mind,” she muttered, and the rest of the meal passed in silence. 

* * *

Severus spent most of the next month utilising Hogwarts’ secret passages to avoid interfering busybodies – Molly Weasley and Narcissa Malfoy having joined the throng – and when he got too wide for most of them, he retreated to his heavily warded dungeons. The wards didn’t stop Donky, of course, but a swift kick – or hex – soon chased him away.

He supposed eventually he’d have to let people in, but their concern for Potter was sickening. He hadn’t asked for this, hadn’t meant for the spell to do _this_. If he’d thought about it, he would have expected his life force to be transferred to Potter, undoing whatever spell Voldemort had cast.

He snorted at the thought – he and Potter could have ended up being the same age. He’d had enough of that the first time around, thank you very much. Especially with the added ghosts of Lily in Ginny Weasley and Lucius Malfoy in Draco.

“Honestly, Potter,” he said out loud, giving his rounding belly a sharp poke. “Why couldn’t you have been normal for just once in your life?” 

* * *

Harry ever-so-slowly floated into awareness. He was in no rush to wake up and see the damage, hear about the casualties. He was just thankful he wasn’t dead. The informant must have been somewhere near the clearing and saved him. He was fairly sure Voldemort was gone, but he hoped they’d got Snape, too. Azkaban was too good for that bastard.

After a while, he decided he’d better start waking up properly and taking stock, although he’d not heard anything for a while. Perhaps Madam Pomfrey had him in a really, really private room and had banned his friends until he woke up.

However, when he tried to stretch his legs, nothing happened. Panicking, Harry tried to open his eyes to see where they’d gone – but his eyelids wouldn’t move, either! In fact, nothing on his body seemed to work. Oh, God, he hoped he hadn’t ended up in Voldemort’s body – or paralysed. Concentrating harder, he realised that his body was there, it just didn’t seem to be the right size. His arms felt very short and stubby, his head had apparently been struck with an engorgement charm and his body was curled in on itself and . . . floating? Did wizards do sensory deprivation therapy?

No . . . He discovered – by bumping into it – that he was surrounded by some kind of bubble. Stretching himself as far as possible, Harry kicked out, determined to tear it and escape. 

* * *

Severus was at lunch in the Great Hall when he surprised everyone by suddenly letting out a pained grunt and dropping his fork, clapping the hand to his – much as he hated to use the term – baby bump. There was an instant barrage of anxious questions. “Potter, stop that!” groaned Severus through gritted teeth.

“Ah, he’s awake,” Poppy exclaimed, and leapt from her seat to wave her wand over Severus.

“Can’t you put him to sleep again?” Severus asked, as everyone else crowded round as well.

“Severus!” “Professor!” appalled voices clashed.

“Oh, Harry, don’t worry, you’re safe!” Hermione continued in a loud voice, leaning closer to Severus’ abdomen as though the close proximity would allow Potter to hear her better.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Miss Granger, he can’t hear you,” Severus snapped. He looked down just in time to watch a small foot form in his flesh, and travel across his belly before disappearing again. “Oh, for Merlin’s sake . . .” The nausea surged again.

Poppy conjured what looked like a miniature, old-fashioned megaphone and charmed it to hover in front of Severus’ abdomen. She tapped it with her wand and cleared her throat. “Mr Potter, can you hear me?” she asked.

Hermione looked puzzled for a brief moment, until a small but clear voice echoed out of the metal cone. “Madam Pomfrey? Where am I? What’s happening?”

“You are safe, Mr Potter,” Poppy said. “And at Hogwarts.” She paused and looked at Severus, who pursed his lips and shook his head. “You’ll have to stay where you are, I’m afraid. At least for a while.”

“Oh, Harry!” Hermione burst out. “We’re so glad you’re alive.”

“Hermione! And Ron?” Potter asked. He had at least stopped doing gymnastics, which Severus was beyond thankful for.

“Yeah, mate,” said Ron, sounding choked.

“Voldemort?” Potter said. “And what was the spell he threw at me?”

“He’s dead, Harry,” said Hermione. “And it seems it was the opposite of the spell you cast.”

“So I was right!” exclaimed Potter, triumphantly. “Our informant _was_ there! Did he get Snape, too?” There was silence as they all looked at each other. Of course, it was well known by now that Severus had been the informant, still spying for them after granting the dying Headmaster a mercy killing, but Potter couldn’t know that. “Snape got away,” Potter said now, bitterly. “Slippery bastard.”

“Actually, my parents were definitely married, even if unhappily,” Severus said.

There was a short pause, and then Potter yelped, “Snape! What the hell is he doing here? Let me at him!” And he began to struggle again. Everyone else began shouting, trying to get through to Potter. Rapidly losing his tolerance for having his insides used as a punching bag, before anyone could stop him, Severus had snatched Poppy’s wand from her and cast stupefy at his stomach. It seemed to bounce off something just under his skin. The resulting explosion sent him flying backwards to collide with the wall. Gratefully, Severus slid into unconsciousness. 

* * *

With an eerie sense of déjà-vu, Harry floated back into awareness. He wondered what Snape had done to him, and how long he’d been unconscious . . . if you could call his state now ‘conscious’. “Madam Pomfrey?” he called.

“Oh, Mr Potter, you’re awake.” The medi-witch sounded strangely flustered.

“What happened?” Harry asked. “Are Ron and Hermione okay? What did that bastard Snape do to me?”

There was a brief silence, and then Ron’s voice came to him. “We’re fine, mate.”

“Severus attempted to stun you, Mr Potter,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Unfortunately, it . . . uh, back-fired, and ended up knocking Severus unconscious, too.”

“Good!” said Harry, viciously. “Why was he even allowed in the hospital wing, anyway?”

There was another pause, and then Hermione said, timidly, “Um, you . . . weren’t in the hospital wing, Harry. You were in the Great Hall.”

Harry tried to frown, and discovered he didn’t have eyebrows to frown with. “But if I’m injured . . .” he started.

“It’s a . . . ah, portable, temporary solution,” Madam Pomfrey told him. “It’s magical, so I don’t know the . . . ah, mechanics of it, I’m afraid.”

“Well, at least you’ll be keeping Snape away from me,” said Harry in a satisfied tone. There was yet another pause. Harry was really beginning to hate them. “Right?” he insisted.

“Now, Harry, there’s no need to worry—” Hermione started, but her voice was too high-pitched, and Harry instantly started to panic.

“Mr Potter, when Miss Granger told you the spell Voldemort cast on you was the opposite of your spell, did you think about what that means?” Madam Pomfrey asked, sympathetically. “Severus cast a protection spell that was supposed to utilise his body as a shield for you, but Voldemort’s spell was very rapid, and even being right there, it was almost too late for you.”

Harry thought about it. If his spell had been to _age_ Voldemort rapidly, and Voldemort’s had been the _opposite_ . . . then it was meant to take him back past the time he’d been born. “So I’m a baby?” he asked in dismay.

There was yet _another_ pause. “Not quite, mate,” said Ron, finally. “Voldemort’s spell worked just as fast as yours did on him, so by the time Snape cast _his_ spell . . . well, there wasn’t much left for his body to protect except by . . . um . . .” Ron trailed off.

“By _what_?!” Harry demanded, beginning to panic again.

“Oh, Harry,” said Hermione, tearfully. “There really wasn’t much of you left – another second could have been too late – so the only way Professor Snape’s spell could work was by—” she gulped “—taking you in.”

“Taking me in where?” Harry asked blankly.

“Into his body, Mr Potter,” said Madam Pomfrey.

This time it was Harry who was silent, his mind twisting and turning this piece of information until it clicked into place. When it did, the horror of it stopped his breath. “You mean I’m _stuck_ in _SNAPE_?!” he shrieked. Then he began to scream. 

* * *

Severus woke up just in time to roll over and vomit over the side of the bed. He took a shallow breath, groaned, and threw up again.

“Oh, Severus!” he heard Poppy’s startled voice, just before a cool wave of magic rushed over him, and his muscles relaxed as Potter went still. Severus hadn’t even registered his movement until then. He flopped over onto his back, panting.

“Thank you, Poppy,” he got out. “What set Potter off this time?”

“We had to tell him exactly what happened with your spell and where he was.” The answer came from Hermione. Severus hadn’t spotted her, hiding behind Madam Pomfrey. She was wringing her hands together. No doubt wishing there’d been another way, Severus thought ungraciously. Well, no one wished that more heartily than _him_. That’d teach him to cast protection spells on students he didn’t like.

“I take it he was less than enthused,” he said, dryly. Hermione bit her lip, guiltily, and Poppy looked away. “Ungrateful brat,” he muttered.

“Hey, like I’m thankful to be stuck inside _you_ ,” Potter suddenly growled.

“If you’d rather be dead, I’m sure we could arrange that,” said Severus, his tone silky and dangerous. Everyone else in the infirmary instantly clamoured in protest.

“Surely there was someone – _anyone_ – else,” Potter started, but was interrupted by a loud snort from Severus.

“Believe me, Potter, you are not my first choice, either,” he said. “Unfortunately, we have spent the last six months—”

“Six _MONTHS_?!” Potter blurted, interrupting Severus in his turn. “It’s been six months?”

“Do. Not. Interrupt. Me!” Severus growled. “Did I not just say six months? You believe we could be working on a solution for a problem we didn’t know we’d have? We are not seers, Potter, regardless of what Sybil Trelawney keeps wittering on about.”

“I thought the spell . . .” Potter trailed off.

“I thought I knew how the spell worked, too,” Severus said, glumly. “It will be the last time I ever cast _that_ spell. Or at least I will take more care with who I cast the spell _on_!” He folded his arms over his chest, even if it did make him feel a little odd, as he was still lying flat on his back.

“Okay, so how do we get me out of here?” asked Potter. If he’d had teeth, Severus was sure he’d have been gritting them.

“Unfotunately, Mr Potter, the same way as every other foetus,” Harry hissed and Severus winced at the term, “which means when you’re at full term,” said Poppy.

That reminded Severus. “Just how is Potter getting out once he is . . . ready?” he queried, not entirely certain he really wanted the answer.

“If I understand the spell correctly, the same way he got in,” Poppy assured him. “Since at the point Mr Potter is able to survive on his own outside of you, the spell will know that such protection isn’t necessary anymore and will break.”

“Just so you know, Potter,” Severus said nastily, “if you make me go into labour, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.” 

* * *

The next few weeks found them settling into a routine – Potter incessantly whinged, Severus took refuge in his quarters, Potter demanded the company of his friends, Severus refused or put up a silencing charm, Potter would decide 3am was a wonderful time for exercise, Severus would retaliate by eating foods he knew Potter didn’t like, and Potter took his revenge by playing havoc with Severus’ body – either by making Severus nauseous enough to throw up, or tap-dancing on his bladder every ten minutes. It was intolerable, he complained to Minerva, who just smiled into her tea cup, said it would be over soon, and reminded him women had been coping with the same problems for years.

“They never had to cope with Potter,” was his retort, before having to make another undignified dash for the bathroom.

Severus was not made any happier by the fact that the school would finally be opening again, two months later than usual, now that the last of the repairs were finished. As he’d be unable to teach Potions – by Minerva’s order, just in case the fumes poisoned Potter – he was tempted to vacate the castle entirely. But he knew the interfering women would just follow him home, and his house hadn’t been built to hold crowds.

“Besides,” Potter whinged, “I want to see my friends!”

“As if you’ll be able to ‘see’ them anyway,” Severus muttered, and received a strong kick into his kidney in return. “Ouch! Do that again, Potter, and I shall eat the hottest curry the house elves can make!” he threatened.

Potter went still and silent. The last time Severus had eaten curry – an extremely mild one – Potter had complained that it felt like he was floating in liquid fire.

Severus also discovered that people’s concept of ‘personal space’ tended to disappear around him. Or at least the women’s did. Poppy at least had medical reasons – mostly – and there was really no way he could stop Minerva. The rest of the staff valued their lives a touch more, and only ever touched him once.

Miss Granger, however, appeared to keep forgetting that he was not an extension of her friend.

“Miss Granger,” he said, softly, after the tenth stroke over his abdomen in an hour, “if that hand comes anywhere near me again, we shall find out just how proficient your wandless magic is when you are unable to hold a wand.”

Hermione squeaked and hastily drew her hand back into her lap. Ron flushed and then went pale. “Sorry, Professor,” Hermione whispered. Over the next ten minutes, Severus was amused to note that her arm jerked in an abortive movement no less than sixteen times. He hadn’t thought she was such a tactile person. Or maybe it was just the usual fascination babies – even unborn ones – seemed to exert on women.

He took great delight in tossing them out of his quarters an hour after that.

“I wanted to spend more time with them,” Potter sulked, giving a desultory kick.

“What else could you expect them to say?” Severus asked, in a falsely sweet tone. “And besides, growing boys need their rest!”

“’m not a growing boy,” said Potter, grouchily.

“Oh, so you’re a growing _girl_ this time?” asked Severus in mock surprise.

He pretended not to hear Potter’s response to that. 

* * *

It wasn’t long after that when Harry suddenly seemed to run out of room. He felt so folded up that he wouldn’t be surprised if his spine had a permanent crease in it. No matter how he positioned himself, he never seemed to get comfy.

“Potter, _stay still_!” Snape snapped after his hundredth attempt to stretch his legs.

“There’s no _room_ ,” Harry complained, shifting his head and head-butting some part of Snape.

“I’m big enough not to see my feet as it is, and you want me to be _fatter_?!” asked Snape, sounding horrified.

“Yes,” said Harry, bluntly, then, remembering the horror stories always told about hormonal pregnant women, “I mean, no! Uh, maybe? I mean . . .” He trailed off, sensing Snape was just one wrong word away from an explosion to end all Snape explosions. “I’ll just shut up now.”

“Finally, a sensible thought(!)” Snape drawled, sarcastically.

If he’d had teeth, Harry would have bitten his tongue. After all, it wasn’t _his_ fault this had happened.

When questioned, Poppy said it was a good sign. “It means Harry’s almost big enough to survive on his own outside of Severus,” she said, patting Snape’s shoulder. “Cheer up, Severus, it’s almost over.”

“Thank Merlin!” Snape said with a heart-felt groan. “I knew doing good deeds just led to problems. Catch me being selfless ever again.”

Madam Pomfrey stifled a chuckle and patted him again. “Now,” she started, brandishing her wand, “do you want to hear the heartbeat?” There was an identical, incredulous snort from both Harry and Snape. “Right,” she said, suddenly remembering who she was dealing with. Sheepishly, she tucked her wand away and bustled off. 

* * *

Two weeks later, Severus was ready to cut himself open with a rusty spoon if it would get Potter out of him. He felt like a beached giant squid, his ankles had retained enough water to bathe in and had swollen to three times their normal size, he constantly had heartburn bad enough to make him feel he was belching fire, his internal organs were being constantly pummelled as Potter tried to stretch, he hadn’t seen below his waist in months, and he’d been reduced to catching cat-naps sitting upright in his armchair.

“At least you can move,” Potter groused at him. “I’d kill to be able to stretch.”

“Oh, yes, I can move – slower than a snail!” Severus grumbled back. “I’d even accept flying on a broom . . . and I hate flying!” He winced as a muscle at the small of his back twinged. That was another thing to blame on Potter – his back hadn’t stopped aching in days.

“Would you like a backrub, Professor?” asked Hermione. She was all but living in his quarters nowadays, and when he did kick her out – which he did frequently – she hung around the corridor outside until she managed to badger her way back inside.

“No!” Severus snapped at her, as his back spasmed again. He must have pulled a muscle. “I want to _move_!” And while he was thinking of it, there was a spot in his potions lab he’d been wanting to clean for days . . .

“Me, too,” Potter moaned. “I literally don’t have room to move a muscle.” Ron, who’d been silently watching, made a soft humming noise and excused himself from the room. Severus barely noticed, as another muscle cramp in his back shot fiery tendrils down to his hips, too.

Several minutes later, the floo spat out Poppy, who took one look at the grimace on Severus’ face and announced, “It’s time!”

“Time for what?” Potter asked.

“Oh, Merlin,” Severus groaned. “I’m in labour?”

“You’re in what?!” Potter and Hermione exclaimed at the same time. “Ow!” Potter carried on. “Owowowow!”

Severus let out a harsh groan that rose in a crescendo to a hoarse yell as he was gripped by a strong squeezing sensation. Potter’s yell of pain joined in a second later.

With an almost audible _pop_ , a large glowing ball of magic appeared in front of Severus’ abdomen, and he fell back in his chair, panting. The magical ‘womb’ floated over to Madam Pomfrey, landed gently in her hands and slowly dissipated, leaving her holding a squalling baby.

“Hello, Harry,” she said, smiling. Hermione burst into tears of joy. A dull thump caused them all to look at the doorway.

Ron had fainted dead away. 

* * *

A month and some judicious application of aging potion – reluctantly brewed by Snape at McGonagall’s urging – later, Harry was back to his proper age of eighteen (although it felt very odd to realise he _was_ actually eighteen, since his actual birthday had passed whilst he was . . . still unconscious inside Snape). Ron kept joking how typical it was that the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice got  _two_ birthdays. Harry had retorted that he preferred keeping his _original_ birthday, thank you very much.

It was also a lot easier to ignore Snape – and be ignored by him – when he wasn’t stuck in the man’s presence every day. Professor McGonagall, who’d finally been appointed Headmistress, had shown him all the evidence that proved Snape had been their informant. It still didn’t soothe the place inside that screamed over Dumbledore’s murder . . . even if it had turned out to be euthanasia. But Harry had stopped trading insults with the man, which he was sure everyone else appreciated, even if Snape himself didn’t care.

They’d never have a proper “father-and-son” relationship, but Harry could settle for an uneasy truce. After all, it wasn’t like he needed another enemy.


End file.
